


어중간한 내 삶

by chyelo, chyeloh (plerpson)



Series: neuroatypical bangtan [1]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Gen, Hallucinations, Mental Breakdown, Mentally Ill Character, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Polygamy, Schizophrenia, Schizophrenic Taehyung, briefly mentioned vaguely described sex, hoseok and jimin love him very much, jeongguk is sort of an asshole but it's okay because he didn't mean it, just a series of scenes, taehyung is my neuroatypical baby, uh basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chyelo/pseuds/chyelo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/plerpson/pseuds/chyeloh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I scream out of frustration but the empty air echoes / I hope tomorrow will be different from today / I’m just wishing" - Tomorrow, BTS</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Kim Taehyung knows he is not what most people call “normal.”</p><p>Jimin and Hoseok know this, Bangtan knows this, the company knows this, the little pill bottles in the lockbox kept safe by the managers knows this.<br/>His psychiatrist and the diagnosis sheet spelling “schizophrenia” in a thousand technicalities know it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> haha i can't really explain this
> 
> i swear i had a plot in mind when i started writing this

Kim Taehyung knows he is not what most people call “normal.”

 

He knows that he’s awkward, and loud, and has edges that never quite seem to fit in the grand puzzle of life.

(Or at least that’s the metaphor he uses, as his psychiatrist makes concerned faces at him and scribbles on her notepad. He wonders if she ever gets bored of taking notes and doodles instead. He wonders if she’s ever drawn Taehyung, or if she’s ever wanted to. If anyone will ever want to.)

Taehyung knows he’s not like everyone else, and while he’s been told multiple times—“Oh, baby,” his mother says, gathering a wretchedly sobbing Taehyung, who’s soaked through from when those assholes in his class dumped a bucket of collected rainwater over him—that people get unsettled when someone is too different, he still doesn’t understand.

He understands, and he doesn’t understand, and so most of the time he tries not to think about it.

It doesn’t matter, though, not when he can still see that glint of uneasiness in the other trainees’ eyes, can hear them whispering about him when they think he can’t hear.

In many ways, it makes joining Bangtan one of the easiest things he’s ever done. The other members grow used to his presence and mannerisms, and the company slaps the label of “4D” on him like a protective shield.

It’s fine, it’s fine, Taehyung can be…Taehyung. And it’s all good and fun, because he’s the group’s “alien,” it’s his job to be eccentric.

And if only the members know what Taehyung’s really like, when he’s cut off from all the cameras and lights and questions, when he can sag, exhausted, into his bed and forget the shadows in his mind because he’s too damn _tired_ —it’s okay.

 

Taehyung’s never been “normal” anyway.

 

\---

 

None of them knew, when Taehyung joined Bangtan, why he did the things he did. There was nothing too noticeable—Taehyung had learned, by then, that the best strategy was to avoid talking, avoid looking, avoid _existing_ , to just throw his everything into practicing and it would be fine, no one would stare at him or whisper mean things about him or shove him onto the floor and drive kicks into his ribs until he nearly passed out—but still there was always… _something_.

A little too long spent staring off into the distance with something akin to fear in his eyes.

Covering his ears when there was hardly any noise at all.

Flinching away from any touch or skinship, resisting all attempts to draw him in.

It was like Taehyung wanted to purposely alienate himself, and after too many aborted tries at bringing him closer, the others let it be.

Taehyung was different, maybe a little off or quirky or strange, but—“Maybe he’s just shy,” Hoseok murmurs, he and Namjoon sitting against the wall to try and catch their breath, watching Taehyung look like he’s trying to press himself through the practice room mirror, “You know, like VIXX Leo-sunbaenim.”

Namjoon shrugs. “As long as he at least _tries_ to be a little more engaged when we debut,” he mumbles, more worried than upset, “We can’t have a member who only opens his mouth to sing.”

 

\---

 

Jimin comes like a blessing.

Jimin is loud, and cheerful, and eager-to-please, and he immediately attaches himself to a startled and helplessly confused Taehyung.

“You’re Taehyung, right?” Jimin asks breathlessly, crashing to the floor beside him as soon as the dance teacher announces a 5-minute break, “I’m Jimin. You know we were born in the same year, right? We should be friends!”

Taehyung is quiet, though the smile doesn’t fall from Jimin’s face until he hears the other whisper, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

One thing Taehyung quickly learns about Jimin is that he’s stubborn as fuck, and in the end it’s what draws them together into this wonderfully chaotic friendship.

“Of course it is!” Jimin’s shoulder-nudge is a little too forceful, and Taehyung’s head gets knocked into the mirror.

“Ow, fuck—” “Oh my god, I’m so sorry—Jesus, I didn’t mean to—I mean, uh, are you okay, Taetae?”

Taehyung squints up at a too-close, intensely worried Jimin, his ears ringing a little.

“Taetae?”

A flash of insecurity flickers over Jimin’s face before it’s replaced with a small, hopeful smile.

“Yeah, Taetae,” he nods, “It’ll be, like, my nickname for you. And you can call me Jiminnie, or Minnie—whichever you prefer—and then we’ll be Jiminnie and Taetae, and we’ll get into all sorts of trouble together. Like Batman and Robin.”

Jimin’s smile is blinding. “Aren’t Batman and Robin the good guys?” Taehyung retorts, before he can stop himself.

Jimin laughs, and it’s the best fucking thing Taehyung’s ever heard.

 

\---

 

And Taehyung still isn’t sure when this tiny bubble world he and Jimin created for themselves—“Bubble world?” Jimin scrunches his nose. Taehyung nods. “Yeah. It’s floaty and nice and nothing can hurt me.” He doesn’t know what makes Jimin look sad—grew to include Hoseok.

Not that he’s complaining, because he is definitely not complaining.

Plus, it works.

(“It works?” Hoseok asks, confused. Taehyung nods sagely. “It works,” he explains, “This way we’re all divided nicely. I get you and Jiminnie, and Namjoon-hyung and Seokjin-hyung can keep fucking each other, and Yoongi-hyung doesn’t want anyone anyway, and Jungkookie’s a baby.” “Wait—” Hoseok’s eyes are comically huge, “—since when are Namjoon and Seokjin-hyung—”)

And Taehyung trusts Jimin and Hoseok more than anyone else in the whole wide world, trusts them to protect him from the bad things.

Jungkook’s slowly working his way up to that level, but he’s still got a way to go (that, and Hoseok still doesn’t trust him completely). It’s strange, because Taehyung likes Jungkook, but he can’t help but feel a little pleased when he remembers how furious Hoseok had looked, seeming to tower over Jungkook as Jimin let a shuddering, panicking Taehyung cling to him.

Because sometimes Taehyung has a hard time with telling when things are real or not.

Jimin and Hoseok know this, Bangtan knows this, the company knows this, the little pill bottles in the lockbox kept safe by the managers knows this.

His psychiatrist and the diagnosis sheet spelling “schizophrenia” in a thousand technicalities know it.

But Jungkook didn’t. Not at first.

 

(“Kookie,” Taehyung’s voice is hardly more than a hoarse whisper, but he knows Jungkook hears him because the maknae swears and jumps about a foot in the air in surprise, whirling around to stare at Taehyung, who’s pressed into the corner, because “ _Jesus Christ_ , hyung, it’s four in the morning, _what_ —”

“Jungkookie,” Taehyung whimpers, and Jungkook raises an eyebrow in acknowledgment, “the scary man…he’s not real, right?”

Jungkook follows Taehyung’s pointing finger to the opposite corner. There’s nothing.

Jungkook huffs in laughter. “Hyung, quit playing around,” he rolls his eyes, “You don’t even _like_ scary movies, stop trying to _scare_ —” “ _Jungkook he’s not real, right?_ ” Taehyung’s voice is pitched and thin, and his eyes are wide and glimmering, almost manic.

Jungkook frowns, uncomprehending, and then, figuring his hyung is just in one of those moods when he wants to play a game no one else understands, proceeds to do the worst thing possible: play along.

“Oh my god, hyung,” he gasps in mock-terror, scrambling back and dramatically clutching his chest, staring in feigned fear at the empty corner, “Holy shit, what _is_ that? Oh, oh god is it—is it getting closer?”

If Jungkook can hear Taehyung’s breathing accelerating rapidly, or the quiet whimpers of sheer terror falling from his lips, he gives no indication of it, and Taehyung is absolutely panicked because _no no no, Jungkook can’t be seeing it too because that means it’s real and it can’t be real please please please—_

Taehyung’s head is between his knees but that doesn’t mean his scream—an animalistic, half-sobbed shriek—doesn’t reverberate through the dorm, the hairs on Jungkook’s neck standing on end.

He doesn’t understand, what’s going on and why is Taehyung making that horribly _keening_ noise—?

Hoseok barrels out of the bedroom like it’s on fire, Seokjin hot on his heels, followed quickly by Namjoon and Jimin—and it might be funny how they fight to get out of the door at the same time, if their faces weren’t blown open in panic—and then Yoongi, stumbling and haggard but very much awake and worried.

It takes Hoseok all of two seconds to take in the scene, Jungkook pressed against the counter looking scared and utterly baffled, and Taehyung in the corner, sobbing horribly and rocking back and forth, before he’s sliding to his knees and instantly enfolding Taehyung in his arms; Taehyung, who makes an awful gasping, wailing noise and clings to Hoseok, nails digging into his skin.

“What happened?” Seokjin demands, looking for all the world as confused as Jungkook feels. Jungkook shrugs, wordless, at a loss. Jimin has taken up residence on Taehyung’s other side, sandwiching him against Hoseok, and both of them are murmuring gently, softly under their breaths, hands roving over Taehyung’s shuddering body in soothing strokes.

“H-H- _Hyu-uunnng,_ ” Taehyung wails, wretched, even as Hoseok tries to shush him, calm him, “h-h-h-hyung, h-he s-s-aid—Ju-ungk-kookie s-said—”

“Hey, breathe,” Hoseok’s voice is firm and comforting at the same time, his hands gripping Taehyung’s trembling biceps, “You need to breathe, Taehyung, okay? Breathe, you’re gonna hyperventilate—breathe with Jimin and me. In…out…in…out…there you are, that’s good, in…out…”

Jungkook doesn’t know how long they all stand there, watching, but his feet feel like they’ve gone numb by the time Taehyung croaks, “J-Jungkookie s-s-said he w-was re-real, hyung, d-don’t l-let him b-b-be _real_ ,” and all of a sudden Jungkook gets the sinking feeling he’s messed up _horribly_.

“Jimin,” Hoseok’s voice is even and hard, and even Yoongi looks wary, “Take Taehyung into the bedroom. The rest of you can go as well—except you, hyung; I might need you to step in.”

The others slowly vacate the room, throwing concerned glances over their shoulders.

 Jungkook only has time to wonder at how tight the line of Seokjin’s shoulders are—like they get when he’s really stressed—before he’s being slammed up against the refrigerator by 59kg of _furious_ Jung Hoseok.

Jungkook has never seen Hoseok angry before, and he’s positively certain that he never wants to, ever again.

“Jeon Jungkook,” Hoseok’s voice is an angry hiss, “What the _fuck_ —why the fuck would you—how fucking _dare_ you!”

Jungkook can’t help it, and bursts into tears. He feels more than sees Seokjin remove Hoseok’s fingers from the front of his shirt.

“I don’t know what I did wrong!” Jungkook sniffles, “I-I don’t understand! I thought he was just playing around—”

The thing about Jung Hoseok is that when he’s serious, it’s in everyone’s best interest to listen, and Jungkook is sure he’ll never forget the royal chewing-out he receives, or the vaguely murderous glint in Hoseok’s eye.)

 

(Taehyung forgives him, because Taehyung is too nice, but Jungkook knows that Hoseok’s still wary of him. Honestly, Jungkook doesn’t really blame him)

 

\---

 

Jimin is still so wonderful, and Taehyung is sure he doesn’t appreciate him enough.

He just never seems to have the right words, at the right time, and so he just kind of hopes that Jimin _knows_ —

Jimin slams his hips back down onto Taehyung, moaning sweetly, and Taehyung doesn’t know what it is but all of a sudden it’s too much, he can’t think and everything is scrambled, like he’s caught up in a riptide and there’s a roaring of whispers in his ears—

“Taetae, baby,” Jimin whispers against his sweaty temple and Taehyung starts, wheezing into Jimin’s neck. He doesn’t remember when they moved, but now they’re curled up face-to-face and Jimin’s murmuring all sorts of soothing things, and not even seeming upset about the fact that Taehyung’s episode has just interrupted them _fucking_ —

“I love you,” Taehyung gasps, surging up to claim Jimin’s lips, “I love you, I love you, you’re so— _Jimin_ —I love you, thank you, thank you, _thank you_ —”

“Shh,” Jimin pets through his hair, indulging Taehung’s frantic kisses, “I know, I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh this was not meant to have a second chapter but here you go

They learned a long time ago to be careful with what kind of movies they show Taehyung.

 

(“I’m not a child!” Taehyung shouts, eyes swimming with angry, frustrated tears, “I can take care of myself!” Seokjin doesn’t even have time to process the outburst, much less reprimand Taehyung for his total lack of respect _or_ honorifics, before the door to the bedroom is slamming shut behind the younger member.

Seokjin sighs heavily, shoulders drooping, and turns back to the onions he’s cutting.

He knows Taehyung isn’t a kid, they _all_ know that, it’s just…it’s complicated, and Seokjin often wishes it wasn’t.)

 

(Taehyung emerges from the bedroom ten minutes later, just like Seokjin knew he would, looking ashamed and apologetic.

“Hyung, I—” “Come here, Taehyunggie.” And Taehyung goes willingly, letting Seokjin wrap him up in a firm hug, cradling Taehyung’s head to his chest as the younger’s hands fist in the front of Seokjin’s shirt.

“Hyung I’m _sorry_.” Taehyung isn’t a kid, but there are times when he seems so small, so vulnerable, curled into the warmth of Seokjin’s embrace.

“It’s okay, Tae,” Seokjin assures him, rocking them gently back and forth because he knows it’s something Taehyung finds immensely comforting, “I’m sorry that I made you feel like a kid; I know you’re capable of so many things and you’ve accomplished _so much_. It’s just that sometimes I—”

“No, hyung,” Taehyung objects, “you’re right. I just…sometimes it’s frustrating that I can’t…that I can’t always take care of myself. I know it’s not my fault, I can’t help it, but…I just wish I could be…better.”

Seokjin shushes him, even though he’s already stopped speaking.

“You don’t need to be better, Taehyung, you’re already so good. It’s okay to need help. There’s no shame in that.”)

 

They steer away from horror movies at all costs—“You can watch those on your own time, Jungkook,” Namjoon says firmly, arms crossed as the maknae continues to pout—and while Taehyung’s psychiatrist would like to limit his movie-watching time even more so, there’s nothing any of them can do to keep Taehyung away from his animes.

Besides, it’s not like it hurts him.

 

“Yoongi-hyung.” There’s a heavy weight suddenly dropping itself on top of Yoongi, crushing the air from his lungs and rousing him rather inconsiderately from his sleep.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Yoongi growls in reply, still groggy, and he hears a very distinct giggle answer him, “Taehyung, _what_ —”

“Hyung why doesn’t my bicycle fly?” And now Taehyung’s definitely pouting, and a glance at the clock tells Yoongi it’s 2:38 a.m., and he’s nowhere near awake enough for this, seriously—

“Do you think you could help me make it fly?” Taehyung rests his head on Yoongi’s chest, still unmoving from where he’s sprawled on top of the older boy, “I want to be like Kiki and fly around giving people lollipops.”

To an outsider the behavior would seem childish, but even at two in the morning Yoongi knows that this is just how Taehyung _is_ , sometimes. He’s like a sponge, absorbing everything around him and then getting confused when he can no longer differentiate the lines of reality. It should be frightening, but this is harmless.

“Sure, kid,” Yoongi grumbles, sleepily patting Taehyung’s back, “but in the morning, okay?”

“Hyung’s the best!” Is the last thing Yoongi hears before he drifts back into slumber, Taehyung still a warm pressure on top of him.

 

\---

 

Taehyung wouldn’t be like this if he took the pills.

He wouldn’t dissociate, wouldn’t hallucinate, wouldn’t go suddenly, perfectly still and stare at the same spot on the wall for hours on end, wouldn’t get so distracted or have trouble recalling what Namjoon just said to him five seconds prior.

But Taehyung hates the pills, and Namjoon is the first to come to agreement with him.

The psychiatrist had recommended taking them twice a day—little tablets that Taehyung swallows down with a grimace—but Taehyung only takes them on “bad days,” because Taehyung hates the pills.

Bad days mean schedules are cancelled, or executed very carefully, with Jimin’s hand always in Taehyung’s—“Keep me from floating away, Jiminnie,” Taehyung’s eyes are wide and scared; Jimin wants to cry, “Don’t let me float away.” “I won’t” Jimin squeezes his hand, “I won’t, I promise.”—and the managers rushing around, trying to make accommodations.

They’re lucky bad days don’t happen very often, because otherwise Namjoon’s not sure the company would put forth the effort of keeping Taehyung around.

Bad days mean Taehyung rolling himself tightly into a blanket, under the bed, whimpering softly, sometimes muttering or crying. Bad days mean panic attacks and vivid hallucinations, mean screaming and crying and _fighting_ , Taehyung’s arms and legs flailing as he tries to keep everyone, every _thing_ , away.

Bad days mean Hoseok or Jimin waiting until Taehyung’s exhausted himself before cradling him to themselves, trying to ignore Taehyung’s little pained sounds of protest, having to convince their deeply paranoid group-mate to open his mouth enough for them to slip a pill past his teeth, following it with a bottle of water.

Taehyung lies still, breathing fast, until little by little the tension seeps from his body, and by the end of the hour he’s placid enough to sleep.

Someone has to stay with him when he takes the pills, because although it’s unlikely, there’s a chance Taehyung could lose consciousness, or become physically ill, or start doing shuddering uncontrollably, and someone has to be there to call the managers for a ride to the hospital, just to be safe.

When Taehyung can’t sleep, this responsibility falls to Namjoon, who quickly grows to hate the pills just for the fact that they steal Taehyung away from the group.

On the pills, Taehyung isn’t with them; his face is a blank mask, he becomes drowsy and weak even if he can’t sleep (his head lolls around his shoulders and when Namjoon turns to look at him, he thinks he sees a spark of terrified helplessness in Taehyung’s glazed-over eyes).

Taehyung says his body aches and his stomach cramps, and his joints hurt with every movement. But he only says these things if his voice is working, because sometimes the pills steal it away, and Taehyung is left looking sad and confused and very much not himself as his mouth works and nothing comes out.

“Why do you keep taking them, then?” Namjoon demands one night, feeling almost frantic with worry despite the lack of imminent danger, watching Taehyung’s head roll around on his shoulders because “my head’s so heavy, hyung.”

He hates seeing Taehyung like this, hates that those goddamn pills steal away the bright, vibrant, energetic Taehyung that Bangtan loves and replaces him with a Taehyung who can barely form a coherent thought, who has to be looked after like some kind of _dog._ Taehyung doesn’t deserve that; no one deserves that.

Taehyung scrunches his nose, and coughs, looking sad and confused as to why.

“They make the bad things go away, hyung,” he mumbles, letting his head fall forward again, “it makes me feel all gross and hurt but the bad things go away.”

Namjoon hates that Taehyung has to choose between physical and mental agony.

 

\---

 

Not all days are bad days.

Mostly, Taehyung just struggles to remember things, struggles to understand things that other people find simple and obvious, struggles to organize his thoughts but—“It’s not as bad as it sounds, Jungkookie,” Taehyung sighs, looking at the maknae’s deeply troubled expression, “really. I’ve got Bangtan, and they take care of me.” Jungkook marvels at how Taehyung’s smile is still so bright.

Taehyung is always like that, it seems, smiling and looking like a ray of sunshine poured into 178 cm, 19 year-old kid with a startlingly deep voice.

How he does it, Jungkook will never know.

**Author's Note:**

> ????
> 
> please leave a nice comment to let me know what you think


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